


Santa Bernie

by skreev



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Modern AU, Swimsuit Sylvain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28229964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skreev/pseuds/skreev
Summary: Felix does not care for the holidays, but he does care for Bernadetta. In the hopes of giving her a good Winter Festival, he agrees to wear a festive Santa suit. Too bad that his friends will never let him forget about it.A story in honor of Felix and Bernadetta's festive attire in Fire Emblem Heroes.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 17
Kudos: 35





	Santa Bernie

**Author's Note:**

> This is not so much of a story as it is a series of dumb jokes threaded together by a semblance of a plot. You have been warned.
> 
> Also I stole the first line from the Sylvgrid discord. Thanks for the inspo, guys.

“Ho, ho, holy shit!”

Felix feels his cheeks burn as bright as his Santa suit. Sylvain’s face is also red, but for a different reason-- laughter wheezes from his lungs so hard that he can no longer breathe. 

“Hold on.” Sylvain pats down his sweater pockets, searching for his phone. “I need a picture of this.”

“No. No pictures.”

Sylvain ignores him. He has decked his halls in a too-tight festival sweater emblazoned with a beach scene and shorts that look suspiciously like swimming trunks. The second Felix sees the silver glint of his phone case, he tackles Sylvain. The shutter clicks frantically as Felix tries to wrestle it out of Sylvain’s hands. 

“Boys, what are you--” Ingrid comes to the door and stops short. “Oh, Felix, you look...very festive.” Her eyes widen as they drink in Felix’s choice of outfit. From Santa hat down to the dark green scarf nestled under a fringe of white faux-fur to the slim cut of his crimson pants to the--

“Is that...is that a _candy cane_ holster?” Sylvain bites down on his knuckle to keep from spasming. 

“It was Bernadetta’s idea.”

The whole shebang had been Bernadetta’s idea. Felix discovered early in their relationship that she loved the pageantry of winter--decorating their apartment, watching bad movies, singing carols, crafting handmade cards. For some reason, she had latched onto the idea of handmade Winter Festival outfits this year. When Bernadetta had suggested dressing up, Felix thought that she might knit him a scarf or stick antlers on his head. But the thrill of costuming proved too great. 

“Do you like it?” Bernadetta squeaks. She wears a matching costume, and boy, does she wear it well. Cute is more of Bernadetta’s thing. She has mastered the art of cute. She is a natural in snug velour, a capelet fastened over her chest. Little white puffs dangle off her skirt, and sprigs of holly tuck into her cap. 

“Bernie!” Sylvain cheers, and it suddenly occurs to Felix how drunk he already is. “You are just adorable!” 

Bernadetta gives an awkward smile, even as her eyes drop to the ground and her feet turn inward. 

“How in the world did you get Felix into this get-up?” Ingrid asks. 

Bernadetta grins. Her eyes slide to him. “Hehe, he’s a good sport.”

Felix hides his smile under a scowl. 

As Ingrid guides Bernadetta inside, Sylvain puts his arm out across the door to catch Felix. “Hey, so can I ask a favor?” 

“What?”

“So can we maybe forgo the shouting match this year?” Sylvain asks. “I know it’s a cherished holiday tradition, but I don’t want to have to replace my television again.”

Felix feels like he is five years old and being scolded. Worse yet, he knows he deserves it. Guilt clings stubbornly to him like cat hair on his velour suit. 

Last year, at Sylvain’s party, the stress of the season had caused a rather regrettable incident between Felix and Dimitri. At one point, he had become so frustrated that he had marched away from Dimitri in a fervor, slamming into the wall as he did so. It caused Sylvain’s TV to topple over and the screen to shatter. 

Many mea culpas later, Felix replaced the television but not his dignity. 

Felix sighs. “Shouldn’t you be talking to Dimitri then?”

“Come on, he’s doing a lot better this year, Felix, and we want to keep it that way, right?”

Felix nods. He is friends with Dimitri; he really is. The problem lies more with the damned season than anything else, with its stupid garlands and lights and memories. As children, the holidays had brought excitement and mystery--the spectacle of decorations; surprises lying in wait under the tree; sensations of warm hearths, baking cookies, and sacred rituals. Their families had always gathered together this time of year.

Now neither of them had a family to gather. 

Sympathy pervades Sylvain’s voice in a way that makes Felix want to turn around and go home. “Look, I know that the holidays are difficult for you. They’re difficult for him too. Hey, they’re not, like, easy for me or anything. Which is why I just want one party without an argument.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Felix says. “I’m trying to be good this year.” He glances past Sylvain where Bernadetta chats with Ingrid in the foyer. “Bernadetta hates conflict, and I really want this to be a decent holiday for her.”

“Oh, so you’ll do it for your girlfriend but not for your best friend?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” 

Felix had only spent one festive season with the Varley family. Bad as an orphan Winter Festival is, spending it with Bernadetta’s family was worse. Her father, the unpious deacon, preached love and acceptance before drunkenly hurling a crystal water pitcher at his brother. Her mother--white pearl teeth fixed in a smiling grimace-- screamed at Bernadetta for a full ten minutes for placing the wrong set of silverware on the table. 

That Winter Festival had convinced Bernadetta to estrange her parents completely. 

This year is the first year after all that. After all the midnight phone calls and the cease and desists and the nightmares of her father showing up on their doorstep. This year would be Felix and Bernadetta’s first true Winter Festival--just the two of them. 

Well, except for this party. 

Felix sighs. “Why do you think I’m wearing all this anyways?”

“Because you’re whipped?”

“Would you prefer that I fight _you_ this year?” 

“That’s the spirit, buddy.” Sylvain pats his back as they both walk into the warm interior of the house. 

People throng Sylvain’s living room and spill into the kitchen. Bodies drape and perch over every piece of furniture, faces aglow under strings of multicolored lights. Someone yowls an out-of-tune carol into the karaoke machine. 

Felix had spent so much time cringing in anticipation of Sylvain’s reaction that he forgot about everyone else. Walking into the party feels like coming into class naked. Heads turn as people notice Felix and Bernadetta’s arrival. 

Felix can feel her chicken out; her hands grips his tightly and she leans slightly behind his body so that he bears the brunt of the spectacle. Most of the time, he enjoys it when she sinks into him for comfort; it makes him feel strong and dependable. Now it just feels like shielding her from a volley of arrows--only the arrows are the pointed stares of their friends. 

“Well, well Felix,” Dorothea purrs. Her eyebrows arch suggestively. She wears a red sweater dress that is festive without leaning into the absurd. “Are you holstering any other candy canes or just the one on your belt?”

“Happy holidays to you too,” Felix says dryly. 

The tone changes when Dorothea sees Bernadetta. Suddenly, it’s all sugarplums and twinkling bells. 

“Bern, oh look at you!” Dorothea claps her hands over her mouth. “You look so precious! Did you make all this yourself?”

Bernadetta nods. “Um, yeah, I know it’s a bit overboard and probably so silly to you but--”

“You are so talented!” Dorothea croons. “Lin, look here, isn’t Bernadetta just the cutest?”

Linhardt turns a bored stare over her. “Looks warm.” He dons a cable-knit sweater emblazoned with the phrase “Merry Crestmas.” His discerning eyes rove over Felix, growing larger with every new detail. His expression flashes with the sort of interest usually reserved for his studies. 

“Don’t,” Felix warns.

Linhardt shrugs and nods. “If you insist.” 

Not getting into a fight may prove to be more difficult than Felix previously anticipated. 

Felix sighs. “I’m going to get us a drink,” he says to Bernadetta. She’s safe with Dorothea, he knows. Dorothea will shower Bernadetta with praises, and soon she will relax.

Felix doubts he will get the same chance. 

He muscles his way through the crowd. The only other person who has bothered to wear a full costume is Hilda, adorned in a tight Santa Baby minidress, pink thigh-highs, and fuzzy white boots. She drapes over Caspar’s lap, crooning “Holly Jolly Winter Festival” into the crackling mic of the karaoke. Caspar tries to sing along but only knows half the words. 

“Ah, Felix, there you are,” says a voice through the crowd. 

Felix is not ready for this. Felix needs three more drinks before he is ready for this. 

Dimitri wanders towards him, managing a smile as best he can. He wears a red t-shirt and jeans, hardly festive except for a scarf striped in candy cane colors. 

“I am afraid I am not nearly as spirited as you tonight,” Dimitri says. “Your costume is very...extravagant.”

“Save your compliments for Bernadetta.” 

“She has done a magnificent job,” Dimitri says. “Especially the part where she convinced you to wear it.” 

Felix huffs a noise that may pass for a chuckle. He is not entirely certain. All he knows is that a spring has bunched up between his shoulder blades, and he waits on thin ice for something to break. 

“Well, I always think stuff like this is pointless, but I understand it brings comfort to some people.” Some people--Bernadetta. Measuring, designing, sewing, ornamenting: all of it had brought a welcome distraction during the long dark of winter. When she found just the right fabric or the perfect adornment, she would hum in excitement. How could Felix take that away from her?

“You know, I was just fondly reminiscing about how your father would dress up as--”

“No.” It’s too harsh. “Not tonight,” he quickly adds, voice softer. “Please.” 

Dimitri dwells. He does not mean to. Felix sometimes wonders if the process occurs automatically; if Dimitri does not know how to proceed into the future without stumbling back into the past. Felix knows this deep inside, but that doesn’t stop the hurt. 

Dimitri nods quickly. “Of course. What I mean is, your costume is a big improvement on Sylvain’s outfit at least.” 

That is a compliment that Felix will accept. 

“Is he wearing swim trunks?” Felix asks. 

“He keeps making hints about a hot tub.”

“Shit. I definitely need a drink then.” Every one of Sylvain’s parties eventually turns into a clown car of people in the hot tub. At least the swim trunks mean that he has given up on skinny dipping. As Felix begins to walk away, he stops suddenly. “Hey, I’m sorry, by the way, for last year.” 

“I believe I am partially to blame--”

“No. You’re not.” Felix feels this apology might be more potent if it wasn’t delivered in a Santa-wrapped package, but the words need to be said. “Just let me take the blame for this one. It’s my present this year.”

“Very well. Accepted.” Dimitri smiles slightly. “Oh, and Felix?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have an open-carry permit for that candy cane?”

Felix guffaws as he walks away. 

He manages to make his escape, slipping over to the kitchen counter, where people have dumped an assortment of liquors. The punch smells like corn syrup and rubbing alcohol. Felix opens the fridge to find an assortment of bizarre holiday flavors--candy cane lager, caramel apple cider, reindeer IPA, something called Krampus Brew. He slams the door shut. 

As he turns around, Claude and Petra suddenly corner him. 

“Ah, I have knowledge of this tradition,” Petra says. “I will be sitting on your lap to receive the presents, will I not?” 

Felix rarely interacts with Petra, but he knows her well enough that she’s taking the piss out of him. Better than Claude’s shit-eating grin at least.

“Yeah, Santa, what presents do you have for me?” Claude’s eyebrows waggle. “That’s a rather large package you’ve got there.” 

Felix crosses his arms. _Ignore them. Ignore them._ Maybe he won’t fight Dimitri this year. Maybe he’ll wipe that smug smirk off Claude’s face instead. 

He asks: “Are there any drinks here that don’t taste like elf piss?” 

Claude taps his chin. “Depends. Have you been a good boy this year?” 

“Better be checking the list two times,” Petra giggles. 

Felix swipes a handle of vodka off the counter. They can uber home tonight, he decides. Better yet, Sylvain owes him about a hundred favors. They can take the guest room. 

“Come on, now Santa,” Claude says. “If you won’t eat the cookies, how about some eggnog instead?” Something about the inflection Claude uses on the word “eggnog” speaks danger to Felix. Before he knows it, Claude pries the bottle of vodka from his hands and replaces it with a plastic cup. “It’s my own speciality.” 

“Is it strong?”

“Will knock your boots off.”

Felix decides he’ll take it.

Felix realizes that he has never had eggnog. The name tricks him into thinking it is like the raw egg protein shakes he chugs before training. It tastes like dense cream with the sharp sting of bourbon underneath. Felix cringes. 

By the time he returns to Bernadetta, others have joined Dorothea’s orbit. Hilda and Caspar, specifically. Hilda barrages Bernadetta with questions about stitches and fabric or whatever it is that goes into making these sorts of costumes. 

"Oh, don't sneak up on me like that," Bernadetta says when Felix squeezes her shoulder. "Last time that happened, I fainted standing up." Regardless, Bernadetta smiles at Felix, relieved that her shield has returned. Instantly, she sinks into him, her cheek burying into the softness of his coat.

“Wow, Felix, you really went all out this year,” Caspar says. “Lucky guy. My girlfriend didn’t even make me a costume.”

“You said that you would rather die than wear something like that,” Hilda reminds him. 

Caspar laughs nervously. “Well that was before I saw Felix, of course. He looks great!” 

Felix suffers another gulp of the eggnog sludge. While the sweetness makes him cringe, the drink fills him with a warmth insulated by his costume. Bernadetta leans against him for support. He offers a sip from his cup, and she nearly drowns half the thing. She’ll regret that later, he knows, but then again, so will he. 

“So what you’re saying is, next year, you’ll let me dress you up?” Hilda asks slyly. 

“Well, uh.” Caspar begins to cough. “I could never look as good as Felix.”

“It’s okay, Caspar,” Bernadetta says. “You don’t have to like the costume. It’s kind of stupid and--”

Felix feels the spring tighten. The hairs bristle on his neck. He takes another generous sip of his drink. What’s the point of all this? It’s just making Bernadetta feel more insecure and Felix more annoyed. 

“It’s not stupid! It’s great!” Caspar exclaims. 

He wants to tell Caspar to shut up, that the more he talks, the worse it becomes. That he doesn’t have to like the costume but that he also doesn’t need to make a big deal out of it. 

The nasty fuzz of eggnog still coats his mouth. Unfortunately, the heavy dose of bourbon clouds his judgment. He tugs at the scarf around his neck to bring in a bit more cool air on his sweaty skin. But the more Caspar talks, the harder it is for Felix to avoid a snarky response. 

“I just couldn’t pull it off, you know,” Caspar says. “I like to have full range of motion in my arms. Makes it easier for me to do pull-ups, you know.”

Hilda snorts. “Why would you want to do pull-ups at a party?” 

The question gives Felix a terrible, terrible idea.

Sylvain asks for no fights, but he never said anything about a little friendly competition. 

“Hey, Caspar,” he says. “Santa or not, bet I can do more pull-ups than you.” 

Caspar hops, suddenly on fire. “I’d like to see you try.” 

Now this is a holiday tradition that Felix can get behind. Caspar starts struggling out of his sweater. Felix hands the last of the dregs of the eggnog to Bernadetta. 

“Um, is this the safest idea? Where are you going to do pull-ups?” she asks, voice quavering. 

“I don’t know. Outside?”

There is a large tree in Sylvain’s backyard, with low-hanging branches that hang over the ground. Dorothea’s crowd follows them out back. As they pile outside, Sylvain hoots “is it hot tub time?” 

It is not. It is time for Felix to prove that this silly outfit does not change anything about him. He is not cute. He is not festive. He remains, as ever, dedicated to his stoicism. 

“Need a lift?” he asks Caspar, as they reach the tree. 

“You’re not that much taller than me!” Caspar snarls. 

They grasp the same branch with both hands. Felix tests the strength; he can feel the weight of the branch bench with their bodies.

“Hilda, will you count us off?”

“Fine. Ready. Set. Go!” 

Felix and Caspar both pull their bodies upward. “One!” Hilda counts. Down their bodies move, then up again. Felix can feel the costume stretch against its limits; if he tears the outfit, Bernadetta will probably be distraught. But the thought is lost in a mire of bourbon and competition. 

“Two.”

Felix’s arms haven’t even begun to burn yet, although the sweat pools against his skin. To the side, Caspar grunts with effort. Felix has this in the bag.

“Three!”

_Crack!_

The branch breaks just as Felix reaches the zenith of his third pull, and both men crash to the ground, the branch landing on top of them. Pain shoots up Felix's arm. 

“Felix,” he hears Bernie scream. She’s trying to roll the branch off of him. As he props himself up, he finds her over him, searching his face for bruises. Her eyes wallow in fear. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Can you count my fingers?”

Felix shrugs it off. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He needs to be brave for her. Still, he accepts her help as he stands on his feet. His arm throbs with pain. 

“What the hell!” Sylvain cries as he rushes over. 

“I’m fine,” Felix says. “At least I didn’t break your TV.”

“You broke my tree!” Sylvain says.

“You broke your wrist!” Bernadetta adds. 

Felix glances down. His wrist dangles at an unnatural angle. “Oh. Shoot.” 

And that is the end of the Winter Festival party. 

* * *

Bernadetta makes a good nurse, Felix thinks. After hours spent in the emergency room, Felix has finally made it home, his wrist encased in a hard cast. Bernadetta has spent the entire night fussing over him, and the more she hovers, the guiltier Felix feels. 

This is now how they were supposed to spend their holiday. She hasn’t scolded him. She should, Felix thinks. He ruined the entire season, against his best efforts. 

“Sorry,” Felix sighs, as she brings him tea to the couch. 

“Why are you apologizing to me?” Bernadetta asks. “You’re the one who’s hurt!” 

“Because I wanted this to be a perfect Winter Festival for you,” he says. “It’s a kind of crappy time of year, and you were so excited for the party.” 

“Oh...hehe, you don’t need to worry about me,” Bernadetta says. “I wasn’t actually excited for the party. I just liked the idea of making a costume.” She tries to smile, but her concern still shines through. “It made for a good excuse to leave early. N-not that I’m happy that you’re injured or anything. I just--” 

“Oh.” Felix leans his head back against the wall. “Well if I knew that, I would have challenged Caspar to something dumb earlier.”

“It was kind of nice, though,” she says, handing him his teacup. “Spending the winter festival with your family this year.”

“I don’t have a family.” He accepts the cup with his good hand. 

“I mean, all of them are kind of like your family, aren’t they?” Bernadetta asks. She drinks peppermint tea that smells as festive as her costume. “Sylvain and Ingrid and Dimitri.”

Felix sighs. “I don’t know. I always fight with Dimitri this time of year. Hell, I broke Sylvain’s television last year.”

“Ok, ok, but that’s not nearly as bad as what happened between my dad and uncle,” Bernadetta says. “You didn’t get into a fight this year with Dimitri, and that’s what matters!”

“Yeah, I just gave Caspar a concussion.” 

Bernadetta leans her head on his shoulder. He finds himself nestling his nose into her hair. 

“At least the costume survived.” Bernadetta’s pinches the fluff at his wrist. 

“Expert craftsmanship. What can i say?”

“It’s really cool that you wore it. I mean, um, I know it’s not really your thing. And I know it annoyed you that everyone was making comments on it all night.” 

Felix smiles. He can feel the hangover coming on fast, and his wrist still aches from the fall. But he still smiles. Bernadetta turns her head up to catch it.

“Eh, you’re kind of my thing,” he says. “That’s worth Sylvain never letting me forget about it.” 

Bernadetta’s grin is what the whole holiday is for. Felix hopes that one day, far in the future, they will be able to laugh about this. Their first true Winter Festival together. It is then that Felix realizes that she was right: he does have a family. Bernadetta is his family now. 

“Hey, Bernie,” Felix says, “next year, let’s tell everyone we’re going on a cruise, and then stay home for two weeks.”

“Really?” Her voice brightens. The greatest gift he could have ever given her: a holiday without social obligations. “Will you still wear the costume?” 

“I’ll wear it as much as you damn well please.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? My Felibern brain went nuts after seeing the FEH winter costumes for Felix and Bernadetta. You can find more of my dumb jokes on [ Twitter. ](https://twitter.com/skreev1)


End file.
